


Thanksgiving

by CrimeAlley1048



Category: Batfamily - Fandom, Batman (Comics), batfam - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:21:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22539256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrimeAlley1048/pseuds/CrimeAlley1048
Summary: An interview with local billionaire, Bruce Wayne
Comments: 4
Kudos: 70





	Thanksgiving

Bruce settled into the chair by the desk, waved once to the crowd, and turned to face the host. The two of them waited patiently for the applause to die down.

“Good evening! And happy Thanksgiving,” said the host, when it did. “We’re thrilled to see you, Bruce.”

Bruce grinned. “Well I’m just thrilled to be here. On Thanksgiving.”

The crowd laughed appreciatively while the host leaned into the camera.

“We tape this show on Wednesday,” he whispered conspiratorially. “Thanksgiving is tomorrow.”

“I’m still thrilled,” said Bruce. “It’s always a pleasure to be here.”

“Tell me, what do y’all do for Thanksgiving? You have a full house.”

“We’re fairly traditional.” Bruce raised a hand to count on his fingers. “Turkey, ham, stuffing. One of mine is a vegetarian, so there’s a lot of sweet potatoes involved.”

“That’s your youngest, isn’t it?”

“Damian,” Bruce agreed. “He’s here with me today, out in the front row.”

Out in the front row, Damian glanced up from his screen, rolled his eyes, and went back to whatever it was he was doing on his phone. That was about right, in Bruce’s experience. Next to him, Cassandra smiled encouragingly— also right.

“Now who makes all the food?” asked the host. “You’ve told me— is that right? You’ve told me before?— that you’re no ace in the kitchen.

“I’m not allowed in there,” Bruce admitted. “The kids get to help Alfred, but he’ll chase me out with a serving spoon.”

“Well I promise we won’t do that here.”

“You say that now.”

“Premature?”

“Premature. I do help with the cleanup operation, though. It’s an undertaking.”

“Oh, I can’t even imagine.” The host grinned, and Bruce grinned back. He was good at that, after years of performing as Gotham’s most charming billionaire.

“So.” The host leaned forward in his chair. “You’re here to talk to us about the Wayne Foundation.”

“Yes, I am. We’re launching a few new programs, and tonight I’d like to tell you about one in particular. We’re building a center in South Gotham.”

“I hear it’s going to be…” The host paused, smiling. “…big.”

“Big is an understatement.” Bruce sat forward in anticipation. “It’s going to be huge, if we have our way— childcare, healthcare, student and family resources all rolled into one set of buildings. Our goal is to provide comprehensive aid to people that need it, and their neighbors, and the city. We’re reaching for the stars here, and we need help.”

Bruce spoke into the camera. “Let me be clear here: I’m not asking for money. I’ve got enough of that.”

The crowd laughed again. Bruce flashed them a wink and continued. “What I’m asking for is your time. We need people to hire. We need volunteers. We need people who know how to build and organize and mobilize as we move forward with this plan.”

“You’re looking for some talented folks.”

“We are, and if you’ve got dreams and you want to help, we’re looking for you. I’m particularly excited about one of the new services we’re offering at the center: a program to help people set up their own non-profits. We want to hear your ideas and your goals, and we want to see you realize them. This doesn’t stop in Gotham.”

“Let’s talk about Gotham. Your home city has a sort of infamy, doesn’t it?”

Bruce grinned again. “We’re used to that.”

“I don’t think I can talk about Gotham without bringing up the Batman.”

“What about him?”

“You’ve met him, right?”

“Several times.”

“What’s he like?”

“Uh.” Out of the corner of his eye, Bruce saw Cassandra and Damian whispering together. They stared expectantly up at Bruce. “He’s… focussed.”

“Focussed.”

“Focussed and… uh, gruff. He’s a little gruff.”

“Do you like him?”

Cassandra doubled over in her seat, laughing silently. Damian backhanded her gently on the shoulder. Appearances.

“He’s fine,” Bruce decided. “He’s— he’s fine.”

“What does he sound like?”

“Sound like?”

“Can you do a voice?”

The crowd oohed in anticipation. Bruce laughed.

“Oh I don’t think I can do that. My impressions are, um, a little shy of mediocre.”

“Try it!”

“Ah.” What now? Bruce took a breath, lowered his voice down as far as it could go— an octave deeper than his actual crime-fighting voice— and tried that.

“… I’m… Batman.”

The crowd went nuts. Cassandra stood up, applauding, and the rest of the audience followed suit. Even Damian cracked a smile, though he remained stubbornly in his seat.

The host took off his glasses and laughed merrily with the crowd.

“Thank you!” he said. “Very nice.”

“Anyway,” Bruce said. “We all like to joke, but the truth is yes, Gotham is broken. I think it’s important to remember that it didn’t just… happen. As a city, as a country, we are what we were made into. These problems— the poverty, the crime, the injustice— those are systematic. They exist because of our history as a nation, because of our greed, and because of our apathy.”

“Apathetic isn’t a word I would use to describe you, Bruce.”

“We try our best. I try my best. One person isn’t enough, and it never will be without real change, real political, social, and economic change.”

“It sounds like Gotham is off to a good start.”

“I hope so. I don’t pretend to know everything.”

Damian raised an eyebrow.

“Well. My kids might think different.”

Cass nodded approvingly.

“My kids are right. But I don’t know everything, even when I think I do. I don’t know what the future holds for Gotham. I do know I’m not going to stop trying.”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” said the host, gesturing to the camera, “Mr. Bruce Wayne!”

**Author's Note:**

> [I shake in relief as I am finally able to type "y'all" into a fic]


End file.
